


there's a humming in the restless summer air

by kevindazes



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Familiars, Hellhounds, M/M, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Neil Josten Just Wants Some Fucking Friends, Nephilim, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Private School, Seth Gordon Lives, Sirens, Skinwalker, Werewolves, Witches, just go with it LMAO, this is completely self indulgent and i have zero idea how this is going to end up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kevindazes/pseuds/kevindazes
Summary: Neil Josten had learned two things in the three months he'd lived in South Carolina.First: do not, under any circumstance, go into the woods at night.Second: never trust a Palmetto Private student. They bite.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Kevin Day/Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten & The Foxes (All For The Game), Seth Gordon/Allison Reynolds
Comments: 21
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes the title is from glory and gore by lorde it's that kind of fic
> 
> i have trashed this story a million times but i decided to give it a chance bc the worlds losing its mind currently 
> 
> happy quarantine folks
> 
> hope u enjoy luv u

Neil Josten had learned two things in the three months he’d lived in South Carolina. 

The first thing being: Do not, under any circumstance, go into the woods at night. Shadows lurked behind trees with glowing red eyes and sharp teeth, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch you up and drag you away to places unknown. Many of people in the town, over many decades, had brushed this warning off only to end up never to be seen again. 

Some theorized that aliens had come down and abducted the missing. Along with this theory came the idea that the abducted would be eventually returned to earth in the distant future, when humans were long gone and the empty planet needed life. 

If Neil thought about it, this theory wasn’t as bad as the others he’d heard from the old men who sat outside the local diner on Sunday nights. Considering the history between hick towns and their notorious UFO sightings, Neil thought it could possibly be plausible. Only on the belief that we weren’t alone in the universe, though, because thinking about how humans were the only life form to exist in the vast unknown that made up space was, well, if Neil was honest, quite stupid. 

Mrs. Moira, who ran the little bed and breakfast near the edge of the woods, had told Neil that there was a creature who waited behind the trees for it’s favorite meal: human flesh. Her younger daughter, who they called Sweets, had seen this creature with her own eyes one day as she ran through the sprinklers in the backyard of the old Victorian house her mother owned. Sweets had described a large wolf, complete with dripping teeth and glowing eyes that she said reminded her of what she'd always imagined hell fire would look like. 

The last theory that Neil had even considered was not as whimsical and imaginative as the others, but still brought a chill to his bones as he walked along the line of the woods on his way home from school. 

This theory came from the students at Edgar Allan High, his new school. It was told to Neil with creepy smiles from the boys, trying to freak the new student, and with giggles from the uniformed girls that made Neil flush with embarrassment. 

Supposedly, the real thing abducting people was neither extraterrestrial nor dog-like, but rather human. They called him The Woodsman, such a simple name for such a simple horror story passed through the generations. Just like any other folktale, the story varied the more he heard it. Sometimes he had a wife, who was his first victim. Sometimes he was a single man whose first victim was a young girl picking berries in the dying sunlight. 

The story always got more theatrical, more blood and more gruesome details that reminded Neil of things he’d rather forget. 

Every morning and every night, he walked by the trees and pictured an old man in his log cabin, sharpening an ax or scrubbing blood off his clothes. By default, this man he’d conjured up looked like a much older version of his father with a pointy smile and ice cold blue eyes that sucked people’s souls right out of their bodies. 

Of course, in the end, Neil never actually believed in the creature or The Woodsman, but he did think there must have been something out in those woods. Something that could never be satisfied with its hunger to take and hide, to make someone disappear and never be found. 

The second thing Neil learned: Never trust a Palmetto Private student. 

This confused Neil. He passed the gated school everyday just like he passed the woods and he wondered what had to be so bad about the people inside that he had to steer clear of them. 

Plenty of people at his school, many of them the same who tried to freak him out with different versions of The Woodsman story, told him to be weary of teenagers in fitted navy blue jackets and orange ties. 

“They bite,” Was all that was offered in explanation when he asked why, which did nothing to help his confusion. 

“What do you mean they bite?” He pushed, tightening his told on the strap of his backpack. All through the many different schools he’d attended, he’d only ever used one strap, never both. Both straps were for boys who didn’t need a sudden distraction at a moment’s notice. 

Neil’s many backpacks had been thrown into the stomachs of many burly men as they charged at him, guns or knives aimed to kill. Hearing that satisfying rush of air leave their lungs in surprise always reminded him to run. 

“Stick around here long enough and maybe you’ll see.” The kid had winked, smirking as he walked off.

Of course, there was never a straight answer to anything in this town. 

Why his Uncle Stuart had thought it wise to ship his nephew to some school in the middle of nowhere rather than take him back to England, Neil didn’t know. 

It was almost unbearable to live alone, seeing as he’d always had someone by his side since he was nine. Everyday he came home to an empty single bedroom with nothing in it but a mattress, two pillows, one blanket, and three cans of ravioli in the cabinet. 

Every normal sixteen year old would have been happy to live alone, so why wasn’t Neil? He was supposed to be making friends to go with to Abby’s Diner on Friday nights. He was supposed to be standing under the neon lights of Ignis, the arcade that sat a little too close to the edge of the woods. He was supposed to be buying alcohol at Ivo’s Service Station where he knew that the cashier let minors get what they want for a few extra dollars. 

Neil was supposed to be normal now. 

He wasn’t supposed to wake up every night, sweating and shaking from a horrific dream that involved a burning car and the sick sound of dried blood sticking his mother to the cars leather upholstery. 

Sometimes when it’s late and Neil’s feeling everything other than okay, he’ll take a walk. 

The moonlight is always silver and dull, shading the sidewalk in a grey dim glow so Neil can barely see his feet as he walks. He’ll stop right at the edge of an opening in the trees, right at the precipice of thrilling made up danger, and stare into the pitch black nothing. 

He knew that if he took just one step, if he’d just push a single toe over the imaginary line, he’d belong to the trees. 

The feeling that bubbled up in chest was always more than fear and it always filled him with the loveliest bit of curiosity that was slowly gnawing at his brain. 

Maybe, just maybe, there was nothing out there at all. 

Or maybe, just maybe, there was something out there. Something that fed on human flesh or chopped heads off or pulled people into the sky in a blinding sea of light. 

Neil would stare into the hollow abyss and wonder whether he’d be next, if he was going to be added as a cautionary tale told around the campfire to scare kids into behaving. 

That thought swam in Neil’s vision and every night he inched closer and closer, scuffing the dirt with his beaten converse and realizing he wanted to be apart of something as unknown as this. 

All his life, Neil had hidden his real self away. He’d made each and every person he’d become disappear inside himself, never to be seen again. If he was honest, he didn’t know who he was anymore. 

He didn’t need to be Neil Josten, he was allowed to be Nathaniel Wesninski now but Neil couldn’t bring Nathaniel back no matter how hard he tried. The only truth he was allowed to keep with him was Abram, and even that was tainted with memories of his mother. 

Neil would stare into the dark and wonder what it saw when it looked at him. Did the trees see Stefan? Or Alex? What about Chris? Nathaniel? 

He’d stand there for hours if he could but, eventually, the sun would start to rise and the sky would paint itself in pastel pinks and oranges and Neil would trudge home. 

Neil laid in bed every night and almost wished that something more interesting would come along, something that would catch his attention like the woods had. Sooner or later, despite everything in him screaming that it wasn’t a good idea, Neil would enter the woods under the cover of the moon and never come out. 

Then, as if something in the small town had been listening to him, he met his first Palmetto Private student. 

He was standing in a record shop, a place called Trudie’s Tunes, and was leafing through a box labelled _‘good shit’_ when he heard the bell above the door chime. 

On instinct, his head shot up to survey the newcomer and immediately he felt something in him turn with unease. 

It wasn’t the orange tie or the navy jacket or even the freshly purple bruise on the girl’s cheekbone that made him stand a little straighter and hover a hand over the knife in his pocket, no, it was how he knew deep in his gut that she wasn’t human. 

He had no idea where the thought had even come from, but the moment it entered his brain he was on high alert. He allowed himself three seconds to take her in before turning back to the records, unable to even focus on reading the covers. 

“Allison!” The girl behind the counter chirped, a small smile across her face as she leaned over the counter to do some complicated handshake that they must have made up. “Dan,” The Palmetto girl, Allison the cashier had called her, smiled. 

Neil pretended to pull out an album and inspect the list of songs on the back. He put it back down and moved onto another box labelled _‘even better shit’_. 

“Is Matty working today?” Allison asked, her accent so clean and precise that Neil could tell she was faking it. He’d had plenty of experience in the languages department, fluent in three and knowing bits and pieces of others. If he paid attention long enough and really listened, he could focus on the bits of speech that she couldn’t hide behind the American accent. 

“Nah, not today. He’s off with Aaron in that new car the twins just bought.” Dan replied, leaning forward on her chair and placing her elbow on the counter as she put her chin in her palm. Allison leaned easily against the opposite side of the counter, uniformed skirt hitching up her thighs just a bit. 

Compared to Edgar Allan High’s uniforms, Palmetto’s looked like they’d been pulled straight out of a ‘Naughty Schoolgirl’ page in a Playboy Magazine. 

He examined the girl without really looking, something he’d learned to do from his mother. _You had to be weary but not too obvious_ , she had muttered in his ear. 

The navy jacket was fitted, hugging the girl's shoulders but still loose enough to allow breathing room, with the face of a snarling fox embroidered on its right breast pocket. The jacket was lined in orange, matching the tie the girl wore loosely around her neck, allowing her to unbutton the top two buttons of her pristine white dress shirt that was tucked into her skirt.

The orange, navy blue, and white plaid skirt was pleated and hiked up a little too high to be unintentional. The bottom of it swished against the tops of her thighs every time she moved and Neil was momentarily distracted by the little sliver of skin exposed between the skirt and the stark white thigh high socks the girl was wearing. 

Tattoos were nestled there, right in that little in between space on top of her right and left thigh. Neil was too far away to make them out but it was still an interesting detail, nonetheless. 

She had flowing curly blonde hair that reached the middle of her back, pulled back halfway to leave the pale skin of her face exposed, the bruise on proud display for everyone to see. How someone could wear a bruise so openly, without shame or the fear of someone asking questions, bewildered Neil. 

When he was younger, bruises were attributed to him being a clumsy child rather than his father’s heavy hands. When he was on the run, his mother knew better than to hit him in places that he couldn’t cover with long sleeves and high collars. 

The Palmetto girl laughed a laugh that tinkled in Neil’s ears and prickled his skin. It was beautiful, _she_ was beautiful, and the bruise on her cheek only made her prettier. 

She seemed to glow in the sun that flowed through the tall windows behind the cash register. It unnerved Neil how _divine_ and _godlike_ she looked in her prissy uniform, bathed in the light. 

She looked like she belonged on a Tiffany window, spread high over the inside of a church.

Something anxious tugged at him, gnawed at his insides. _She’s not human,_ the thought came again. Neil dropped the record he was holding back into the box. 

_Maybe she’s a goddess,_ Neil scoffed to himself. _Maybe she’s something entirely different._

Soft music played over the speakers as he continued to flick through titles, not even interested in looking anymore. He was too preoccupied with the girl and those _stupid_ tattoos on her legs. 

Suddenly, he realized that the cashier and the Palmetto girl were no longer talking. It had gone dead silent in the record store, the only sound being the static-y eighties music that played dimly through the old speakers in the ceiling. 

He tried to look like he hadn’t noticed the sudden silence and moved onto another box. This one was labelled _‘music for pussies’_ and Neil almost smirked when he dug around and pulled out a random Christmas CD, the waving Santa on the cover giving him a wide smile. 

He almost laughed, but swallowed it when he realized he should be paying attention, not laughing at some stupid box and some stupid CD. 

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” The voice came from his right, with a slight southern accent that caught him off guard. He concealed his jump of surprise and turned to smile at the girl. 

It was the cashier, and she was looking at Neil with one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in question. 

It was weird because all though this girl was wearing heavy black boots that matched her heavy black makeup, her mocha skin glowed just like the Palmetto girl’s did. 

It threw Neil for a minute and that anxious tug pulled at him again, _you need to leave._

He didn’t want to leave, though. He didn’t want this feeling constricting his chest to go away. This is what it felt like to stare into the woods at night, sheer fear creeping at his insides with a twinge of beautiful curiosity. 

“I guess you wouldn’t of,” Neil started, eyes trained on the girl’s piercings that lined each if her ears. Her hair was cropped short to her skull, slightly curled at the end of some of the longer pieces. “I’ve only lived here for a couple of months.”

She belonged right next to the Palmetto girl on her own Tiffany window. 

Did all Palmetto Private students _have_ to be so pretty? 

“Ah,” The girl said, crossing one long sleeved arm around over the other. She snorted as her eyes drifted down to the box he currently had his hands in, “There’s a reason I scrawled _‘music for pussies’_ on it.” 

“What? You don’t like the Kids Bop remix of Hotline Bling?” Neil smiled cheekily, ignoring every instinct to run when the girl smiled and watched him hold up the CD. Her eyes were a curious thing, green and nearly cat-like. 

“Oh! What about this absolutely smashing, amazing Katy Perry album?” He dropped the Kids Bop and reached in to grab the horrific CD. “I Kissed a Girl and I Liked It? Primo shit.” Neil said, involuntary smiling at the girl's little laugh. 

“I’m Dan,” She introduced herself, reaching forward slowly to lightly press her dainty fingers around his wrist, “and I’m gonna show you what _real_ music is.” 

Neil let her lead him, her touch soft and easy on his wrist, over to a box labelled _‘and you thought sex was good’_. 

Neil had surprised himself when he didn’t flinch away from her grip, when her fingertips didn’t burn through his skin and make him want to throw up. After Baltimore, after Lola had held him close in the trunk of a car and told him how he looked _just like his father,_ Neil didn’t think he could ever be touched again. 

Sometimes, late at night when things got real bad and he couldn’t bring himself to even move, he felt the burn of her fingertips running over his skin. He felt her hand climbing up under his shirt, he felt rough hands on his arms as he was held down and had an ax pressed lazily to his throat. 

Dan’s touch was good, it was _nice,_ fucking feather light and calming. Her fingernails were painted in a bright shade of orange, offsetting the flowing black dress she wore and the septum piercing in her nose. 

She released his arm and that feeling in his stomach pulled tighter, _too tight_ , reminding him that he was _supposed_ to be leaving. He couldn’t bring himself to do it though, to lie through his perfect set of teeth he’d got from his father. 

He _wanted_ to be here, so he was going to be here. 

“Right here,” Dan said as she pulled a CD from the box and waved it at him, “Let’s Be Nice, Birdbrain. 1997. Will blow your fucking mind.” She shoved the CD case into his hands before digging back in the box to pull another album out. 

“Ah ha!” She exclaimed, pulling her find out from the bottom. “Enema Of The State, Blink-182. 1999. A fucking masterpiece.” She tucked this one on top of the other, which was still sitting in Neil’s outstretched hand. 

" _All The Small Things_ , right?" He asked. They hadn't listened to music a lot when they were on the run, but when they had, his mother had preferred the alternative music stations over the pop ones. He'd listened to her hum along to plenty of songs that still sometimes got stuck in his head when he was thinking too much about her. Missing her. 

Dan beamed at him, "Exactly! So, you do have _some_ good taste." 

He laughed, "My mother had good taste, yeah." 

Since his focus was on the box she still had her hands in, he didn't quite notice her face falter. "Had?" She questioned. 

He snapped his eyes up to her face and for the first time realized just how close they were standing next to each other. He took a step back, unconsciously, and felt that fear he'd been ignoring pull at his chest once more. 

He cleared his throat and gave the vaguest version of the truth he could, "Car accident." 

Her expression softened, "Oh, I'm sorry." 

She said it like his mother's death was her fault instead of his father's and it hurt, just a little. 

He shrugged a shoulder, "It's okay. It's been years." 

It had been months, in reality. 

She must have sensed that he was not willing to further this topic of conversation, so she said, "You live alone then, I'm guessing?" 

He shrugged again, "Mostly, yeah. Lived with my Uncle for a couple of months after but I've got my own apartment now." 

She nodded, "Palmetto doesn't let its students live off campus, but fuck I wish they would. My roommate's a nightmare." She riffled through the CD's some more before pulling another out and putting it with the others in his hands. "All Killer No Filler, Sum 41. 2001. _Handle This_ is pretty good."

"I'll take your word for it," He said and tucked it with the other ones, "What's up with your roommate?" 

"She's nocturnal and I, sure the fuck, am not." She tells him and he laughs. "She doesn't understand the concept of sleeping at night. I still have yet to figure out how she's passing all her classes, but I will one day. It's on my To-Do list." 

"Adderall is a helluva drug," Neil said. 

She laughs and he smiles and doesn't realize until after he'd left the shop with his new CD's in a bag hanging from his fingers that he didn't even bother to tell her his name. 

The little thing that had been pushing him to leave says, _that's a good thing_. 

Neil disagrees. 


	2. Chapter 2

Neil wakes up at three o' clock in morning, choking on his own breath. 

He can't remember the dream but the the burn scars on his face twinge in phantom pain and his arms ache in a way that they haven't in a long time. 

The window above his bed is open, though he can't remember it being open when he'd fallen asleep. The blinds are partially pulled up and swaying in the small breeze that comes through. They make a little clicking sound every time they brush against the window and briefly, that old fear that fueled his mother fills Neil.

Instantly, he makes himself stop breathing so hard. He has to be quiet, always has to be so fucking quiet. People notice you when you're making noise.

Neil tries to shake himself out of it, tries to tell his racing heart and his racing thoughts that there's no one in the apartment with him. He doesn't have to run anymore. His father is dead and so is his mother and _he's normal now._

It doesn't work. 

He's scrambling out of his bed and over to his shoes suddenly, pulling them on. He doesn't bother tying the laces as he snatches his keys off the kitchen counter and leaves. 

The door slams against his will, startling him and most likely his neighbors. Neil winces and holds himself very still, clenching his hands into fists and scrunching his shoulders clear up to his ears as he waits for any noise, anything that could indicate there was another person awake. 

His entire body is tensed for a hit, a smack, a punch, _something_. Ghosts of his memories swirl around his head off all the times his father, his mother, Lola, has hit him for not standing the right way or making too much noise or not smiling wide enough at the officers that came to search their house. 

Maybe it takes seconds or minutes, but slowly Neil starts to let his shoulders drop and his hands open. He takes a deep breath and pretends he can't feel himself trembling. 

He locks the door and then shoves the keys into his sweatpants pocket, ignoring the twinge of real pain in his hand. When he'd clenched his hands, he'd forgotten about his keys. They'd dug tiny red holes into his right palm. 

He goes down the stairs as quietly and as quickly as he can, skipping over all the creaks he'd counted and cataloged the day he'd moved in. 

He gets out into the parking lot of his apartment building and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with air heavy with whatever made this place so mysterious. Neil almost choked on it. 

Oh, how badly he wanted to figure this place out. How badly he wanted to become apart of it. 

He doesn't decide to start walking, all he knows is that one minute he was standing on the cracked asphalt next to his shitty Toyota and the next he's standing in the Ivo's Service Station parking lot. 

It'd started to drizzle while he was walking. The rain patters and races down the windows of the Service Station as he walks inside. It's quiet, as Neil would expect it to be. He doesn't know what time it is because he hadn't bothered to check before leaving his apartment. To him, it feels late. Or early. Same difference. 

The man behind the counter is dozing, one elbow rested on the counter and chin rested in his palm. His eyes barely flutter at the sound of the bell that indicates the door opening. Neil decides not to bother him. 

He walks each aisles of the store, his shoes and laces clicking against the stained linoleum as he goes. The only sounds are the rain, his shoes, and his breathes. He supposes it's meant to be calming. It isn't. It's eerie. 

He finds himself at the back of the store, hidden by a whole row of chip bags and snack cakes. He stands at the edge of a hallway that marks the entrance to the restrooms. 

The light above is flickering a couple of times a minute, casting the hallway in a dim darkness. He stops just short of the entrance to the hallway and stares. He feels like he's been in this situation before. Like he's lived this exact minute over and over and over in his head a million lifetimes already. 

Time feels stretched thin across his skin. It pulses with possibility, with potential. 

_Make the decision_ , something in his says. 

Some part of him knows that something about this isn't as simple as opening the men's room door and locking it behind him. Some part of him knows that he doesn't care. 

His skin itches when he steps forward.

Time completely stops when the restroom door closes behind him. He thinks the door slammed, but he doesn't remember hearing it slam. He hears the lock click but he's standing no where near the door when he hears it. 

He swallows heavily, letting that familiar feeling of being watching wash over his skull. It feels like pins and needles. It feels like if he moved even a single inch, something was going to grab him and never let go. 

And that's when it happens. 

All the lights in the bathroom cut off at once. 

He's submerged in complete darkness and he can't, no, _won't_ move a muscle. He'll slip away if he does.

He hears the trees creaking and he hears it echo off the empty corners of the bathroom. He feels the leaves brush against his skin, feels the bark scratch at his shins as the trees sprout of of the dirty tiles of the floor. 

Neil is surrounded and he can't see a thing. 

The light flickers back into being and Neil becomes so self aware so quickly that it makes the breath tumble around in his chest. 

He can't see the trees, no, but he can _feel_ them there, in that tiny bathroom. He takes a step and half expects the earth to swallow him whole. It doesn't but- but the feeling is still there. It was going to swallow him whole at some point, just not right now. 

He finds himself unconsciously dodging trees that aren't really there as he steps up to the mirror. It's cracked like someone had thrown a fist into it a long time ago and the splinters of glass fracture Neil's reflection. He stares at himself in it, stares at the tiny purple under his blue eyes and his glowing auburn hair. 

He looks ethereal and unreal under the light and Neil-

He takes a deep breath and smells nothing but damp soil and earth. 

He thinks that maybe this is what it means to feel alive, like there is something growing under his skin that he can't quite identify. 

He stares for an hour, maybe more, before he finally steps out of the bathroom. The guy behind the counter throws a cigarette pack at him as he leaves and Neil stops. "I don't have any money on me," He tells the man, who just shrugs in response. 

"You look like you need one," Is all he offers in reply, accent heavy. 

Neil takes it for what it is and leaves. 

The sun is just peeking over the horizon and Neil can't help himself as he takes a deep breath and inhales this place into his lungs. 

_I belong here_ , He thinks, _I belong here and no one can take that from me._

The walk home isn't long but it feels like it takes years. 

He showers once he's home, stands under the hot spray and blanks his mind. He suddenly feels so _other_ that it burns. 

Getting dressed in his uniform and driving to school thirty minutes early feels like a chore, but he does it anyways. Uncle Stuart didn't care about something as stupid as grades or graduating and neither did Neil, really. School was something to do, something to keep him occupied. He didn't have to go, but he did because it prevented him from doing something stupid (like finally making the jump and plunging head first into the woods.)

He parks his car in his usual spot at the back of the parking lot that's full of dead leaves and overhung by trees. He turns the car off and rolls his window down, letting the early morning sounds of the day float towards him. He takes out the cigarette pack he'd been given this morning and lights one up, smoking through it slowly as he watches the school parking lot fill out. 

In his hand, he unconsciously flicks his lighter open and closed. The flame heats his fingers for a second before it's snuffed out again and again and again. The clicking sound of it losing is oddly comforting. 

The feeling of the flame and the smoke filling his lungs reminds him of a beach and a hollowed out car and a backpack buried deep in the sand. He shivers with the memory.

He goes through four cigarettes before he decides to head to his first period. 

The day is about as boring as he'd expected it to be and he almost leaves midday. It was hard to focus on geometry when all he could think about was the way the leaves had pressed against his skin almost protectively. 

It was hard to focus on anything really when he was becoming more and more convinced that he wasn't a real human being. 

He tries to remember if he'd ever felt like this in the past, if his mother had ever said a thing about being... other. 

He thinks maybe he could ask Stuart but then thinks about how absurd he'd sound. Who would believe him? Things like this weren't real. Last night could have just been a really elaborate hallucination. 

Neil wouldn't be surprised if it was. His family wasn't exactly on the sane side of things. 

On his lunch break, he goes through two more cigarettes when he sees them. 

Across the street, coming out of Abby's Diner, are four Palmetto Private students. Neil tries not to stare, but he hears Dan's voice and immediately his eyes snap to them.

Dan's there, but so is a gigantic man, Allison, and another smaller boy. The two men couldn't be any more different from one another. One blonde and pale while the other is dark haired and dark skinned. The taller man laughs loudly and sweeps Dan up in his arms so effortlessly like they've done it a thousand times before. Neil thinks he might be the Matt they'd mentioned the other day at the music store. 

The man leans down to whisper something in Dan's ear, which instantly makes her snap her head in Neil's direction. 

He nearly chokes on smoke. 

Dan squeals and starts tugging her friends toward him and Neil thinks about walking away. What the hell- If the kids eating in their cars saw him conversing with Palmetto kids, they would eat him alive. 

"Hey, kid!" Dan says excitedly, "How've you been?" 

"Fine, you?" He asks, realizing it's too late. When the three other brightly dressed students crowd him he knows he's done for. 

"I don't know if you met Allison last time you were at the store, but-" Dan points to the blonde girl with the thigh tattoos. Neil tries not to let his eyes wander to them as he smiles at her.

"Nice to meet you," He says, "I'm Neil." 

"Allison," The girl introduces and holds out her hand for a shake. Neil grants her it. 

Her hands are soft, in a way that you would expect a pretty girl like her's to be. Neil smiles a real smile. It's involuntary. He can feel his mother yanking on his hair and whispering, _Girls are a distraction, Stefan. Don't you dare allow yourself-_

"This is Matt, my boyfriend," Dan points next to the giant of a man standing just behind her, "And the little guy over there is Aaron." 

Little Guy, as Dan had labeled him, scoffed at the nickname. Neil's mouth quirked into a smile before he hurried to cover it with a drag of his cigarette. 

Neil waves the hand he'd tucked his cigarette in, blowing out a plume of smoke, "Hi." 

"We were just on our way back to the school, but it was nice to see you again!" Dan says cheerily, "Come back the music shop soon!" 

And then they're gone like they were never there in the first place. 

Neil lets his cigarette burn to the filter before he tosses it down the storm drain. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter three is finally here!!!
> 
> sorry i haven't been updating a lot!! i recently started working and i've been so busy and tired that it makes it hard to write these days
> 
> but im back, at least for the moment
> 
> also this is a stretch but i thought why the fuck not let's make neil something cool as shit
> 
> sorry if there r any mistakes, i edited this v quickly 
> 
> as always, luv u guys and thank u for reading !!! <3

The graveyard, by all accounts, was apart of the forest as much as the forest was apart of it.

Old vines grew over centuries old tombstones, green ivy leaves covered mortsafes in further protection from body snatchers and the risen undead. Cracked mausoleum's dedicated to long dead historic families were littered throughout the place, their seals busted and their insides subject to dead leaves, the elements, and the forest animals. 

Neil only visited the grounds on odd days, such as this one, when the sun was hidden by the clouds and the earth was shrouded in grey. Among the gravestones and the ominous fog that never seemed to leave places like this, he felt a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in years. 

He'd parked his car along the tree line that hid this place, hopping that passing cars wouldn't question what it was doing there. 

He'd found this place accidentally, after a rather hard fall through a grove of trees and down a small hill. He had rammed straight into the side of a tombstone which cracked a few of his ribs and left a nasty bruise on his side for over a week.

The fall itself was embarrassing, so he was glad that the only ones who witnessed it were the dead folks, the trees, and the animals hidden in the underbrush. 

He took his usual path towards the back of the graveyard, touching his fingertips to the tops of the gravestones he could reach as he passed. He murmured a hello every so often as if he was greeting old friends. He liked to let the ghosts of the people buried here know that he was visiting, to be polite. This was their home and his mother had taught him that it was impolite to enter someone's home without permission or announcing yourself.

Of course, that lesson had been thrown out their stolen car window the first time they'd run out of gas and had to break into an elderly couples house for supplies and a nice place to sleep for the night. 

He found his usual spot and greeted the person who had been buried there, a man named Nikolas A. Baltimore. Under his elegantly written name was a list of the books he'd written when he was alive. Neil wasn't much of a reader but he figured _The Wintry Door_ and _Sign of the Painted Hand_ sounded interesting enough. He told himself that he'd look them up at the local library once he was finished here. 

He leaned his back against Nikolas' gravestone, the cold of the old stone going through his flimsy shirt and reaching his skin. It seemed to seep into his bones after that and he shivered against the chill as he pulled his phone out. 

The signal was a little weak, but still there, so he dialed his Uncle's phone number and waited. 

He didn't know what he was going to say, really, but he needed to know.

The urge to call his Uncle had grown ever since he'd seen Dan again in the parking lot. He started dreaming of a red door carved with gore and screaming faces, started dreaming about how much he wanted to open it and take a peek inside. 

He knew, logically, that it was just a dream. His mother, though, had always told him to listen to his gut and that, normally, his dreams were just his thoughts trying to make themselves known. 

He wished he could talk to her, to ask her what all of this meant. He wanted to ask her what he was. 

Since he couldn't speak to her, the next best person to speak with was his Uncle. 

So he sat there as the call rang and tried to focus his thoughts. He was going into this blind, having made no plan of what he was going to ask. 

His Uncle picked up with a grunt, "Nathaniel." 

"Uncle," Neil said, used to his real name being the only one to ever leave his Uncle's mouth. He pushed away the memories of his father and took a breath. 

"How's school been?" Stuart asked. 

"Shit," Neil laughed. 

"Seems like it," Stuart responded, "they still send me your grades and I look at them when I need a laugh."

"Oh, come on," Neil rolled his eyes, "they're not that bad." 

"Maybe, the American schooling system is confusing." 

"Well," Neil said, "your schooling system is considered confusing over here." 

"Whatever, American's are confusing as a people." 

"I agree," Neil muttered. 

It was silent for a seconds before he heard his Uncle sigh, the sound coming out cracked and full of static, "I know you aren't calling to discuss your grades, so, what's the matter, Nephew?" 

Neil stopped breathing for a second when he felt something touch his shoulder, the cold of it making goosebumps rise on his skin. He denied himself the urge to whip his head around and look for the thing that touched him and instead decided to interpret it as Nikolas just trying to encourage him. Neil patted the gravestone behind him pathetically, silently thanking Nikolas for the support. 

"Uh," Neil started but his voice cracked, "Uh, this might sound- I'm not crazy, I swear, I just have a few questions-"

"Oh," Stuart said, "Have you figured it out yet?" 

Neil's heart stopped in his chest, "What do you mean? Have I figured what out yet?" 

"Mary would leave me to be the one to explain, wouldn't she?" Stuart said to himself, "Listen, kid, I'm going to talk and you're going to listen and I don't want any questions until the end." 

"Okay," Neil whispered, suddenly scared. What the fuck was going on?

He felt the touch on his shoulder again and felt the fingers of the hand that grasped him tighten on his shoulder. He felt the memory of a touch on the side of his face, a hand in his hair, another wrapped around his upper arm. There were too many hands to belong just to one inhabitant of the graveyard and Neil still refused to look at the memories of the people buried here behind him. 

He closed his eyes and waited.

His Uncle gave a giant sigh, seemed to light a cigarette and took a puff before he began to talk. 

"Your mother met your father four years before you were born at some club over in the colonies. I don't know which one, but all Mary said was that she was instantly drawn to him. Moth to a flame, all that fuckin' jazz." His Uncle took another drag, "She said that the first time she realized he wasn't human was a year after they met. I don't know the details, but I do know it involved a dead body and information they needed from said dead body.

"She told me that she watched him bring the man back to life, quick enough to get the information he needed, and then slaughter the man all over again. It was quite the sight, apparently. Then, on their wedding night, when you were conceived," His uncle paused yet again, "this is very uncomfortable, sorry. Uh, he, _ya know_ , and his eyes turned red. 

"Eventually, he told your mother what he was and what she was carrying in her stomach. What he'd made her the mother of. Your mother, ah, damn kid, this is horrible- Listen, your mother loved you until her last breath and she might have been a harsh woman, but she did everything for you. You were her world and she never regretted giving birth to you, not once, but, she did try everything to get rid of you before you were born. She threw herself down stairs, tried to get you aborted, used a metal hanger, _everything_. When Nathan finally found out, he beat her black and blue, told her if she wasn't going to be your mother and he'd find someone else to be."

Neil was feeling a lot of things at the moment, most of it pain. Pain for his mother, pain for himself. She must have hated him a little bit, for looking so much like his father. For being part his father. Hated herself for not being able to get rid of him properly. 

"When you were born, the worst storm to ever hit the east coast appeared out of thin air. It lasted for six days, six nights, killed a lot of people. It was crazy as shit, to be honest. She left for England with you soon after, telling Nathan she wanted to show you to her side of the family. Having you in the house was a nightmare, literally. Fuck, I loved ya to bits but every night you spent in the house everyone had nightmares. Horrible nightmares about the end times and storms ripping the world as we know it to shreds. 

"She took you back after your grandmother told her she didn't want you in the house anymore. I saw you only once after your mother ran from your father, when you stopped here. You were nine then and you looked exactly like him. It was eerie, almost, I couldn't look you in your face for the longest. You two only stayed for a week and your mother wouldn't stay permanently no matter how much I begged her, told me that you two leaving was the only way to keep her family safe.

"When Nathan came for a visit, it was a massacre, _literally_. He killed half my men with a snap of his fingers, ruined my shipments, snapped your grandmother's neck, all to get _you_ back. Of course, I never told him where you were because I didn't know. Even if I did know where you were, I was never going to tell him. You might be his son but you were never a fuckin' Wesninski."

Neil was shaking. He was craving a cigarette. He was craving his mother. He wanted to run his car into a tree. This was all so _unreal,_ so _eerie,_ so _other-worldly._ Things like what his Uncle was describing only happened in movies and alternate universes. Things like this didn't happen to Neil Josten. His life was excitable enough already. 

"When we finally got a hold of you, trapped your father, and got you tucked away in that little motel in South Carolina, I realized you didn't know. I realized Mary never told you what you were or what you being alive _meant._ So now we're here and I'm not really educated enough to explain properly." 

"Can I ask questions now?" Neil asked. The air around him felt so thin that it was hard to breathe. 

"Sure, kid," Stuart muttered. 

"Just a second," Neil muttered to his uncle before turning to the things crowded behind him and asking, "May I smoke?" 

Although he was addressing the ghosts, wind whistled through the trees and whispered a _yes._

Neil dug his pack out of his jean pocket and shakily lit one. 

"Who are you talking to?" Stuart asked curiously and Neil almost laughed. 

"The ghosts. I thought it might be impolite to smoke in their home without asking first." 

"Oh, well," Stuart said, like he understood. Neil knew he didn't. 

"You said you trapped my father? What do you mean? I thought he was dead." 

"You can't kill an angel, boy," Stuart answered him, like it was obvious. 

Something shook Neil to the core, grasped his throat and applied pressure. _What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-_

"What?" He finally wheezed out. 

"Well, technically, your father is a _fallen_ angel. The Morningstar, as he's called." 

Morningstar. 

"You're saying- Are you really saying-"

"That you're father is Lucifer? Yes, I am."

"You're fucking joking." 

"Not a bit." 

"What the fuck." Neil said. 

"What the fuck, indeed," His Uncle agreed calmly.

"So he's trapped?" Neil said once he'd gathered enough air in his chest to talk. 

"I had to find four Angels to help me, but yes, he's trapped in hell, currently. Stuck in a cage, the prick. It was quite a lot of work, shoving him back into that pit but we did it." 

"So," Neil began. This was the scary part of the conversation. "You're saying that I'm what? Half devil child half human?"

"Well, actually, it's called a nephilim." 

"What the fuck is a nephilim?"

"The offspring of a Son of God and a Daughter of Man. So," Stuart cleared his throat, "you're technically half angel half human." 

"Stuart," Neil's feeling a lot all at once, most of it is disbelief, but a lot of it is saying something like _I fucking knew it._

"It's okay, Nathaniel, take your time. It is quite a lot to take in when I think about it," Stuart tells him but Neil doesn't really hear. He is too busy trying to reshape his whole reality around this new information. 

"So my father," Neil starts. 

"Is the archangel Lucifer." Stuart finishes. 

"And my mother?" 

"Loved you until her last breath." 

"And you?" 

"Human as can be," Stuart laughed, "surprised I still am at this point, honestly. England is rampant with Victorian Era vampires. Quite a sight, having someone say some shit like 'thy shall die' before you lob their head off with a machete." Stuart chuckles. Neil can hear him fixing himself a drink over the line. 

He takes a drag of his cigarette and just stares at the greenery in front of him, at the opening of the trees. He wishes that the ground out swallow him up slowly, that his body would sink all the way to the middle of the earth and he could burn alive. 

"I don't-" Neil starts, but he doesn't know what to say. Is he just supposed to believe whatever his Uncle is telling him? This could be a really elaborate joke and Neil could really just being going fucking insane. 

"This isn't a joke, Nathaniel." Stuart sighs, "I told your mother not to keep it from you but she never listened to a word I said. She thought that you were better off not knowing, that if you didn't know then your powers would never manifest nor would you go all dark side or some shit." 

"I'm not going to go all dark side," Neil huffs, but he doesn't know. He could. He could go dark and kill half the planet. 

Neil backtracks, "Wait, what the fuck do you mean powers?" 

"I mean," Stuart says, "you have powers kid. Or at least you're supposed to. They probably never manifested and you'll probably not get them now that it's been so many years." 

"Powers?" Neil's brain is eating itself alive inside his skull. 

This conversation is giving him a fucking headache. Being alive is giving him a fucking headache. 

"God," Stuart mutters, "Did I break you or somethin'? Do I need to send Jenny up there to make sure you don't off yourself?" 

"No," Neil rushes, smoke billowing out of his mouth and getting stuck in his throat, "No, I'm fine. I'm not gonna off myself." 

"Good," Stuart sighs, "Getting the deposit back on the apartment we'd rented you would be a bitch to get back if there was blood and brain all over the carpet."

"Oh, shut up," Neil smiles, for the first time that week. It's tiny and small and not all that much a smile, but it's there none-the-less, so it must be noted. 

"Now," Stuart's voice sounds sterner than before, "Now that you know about the dumpster fire, don't go stroking the flames, yeah? Don't try to make your powers manifest. You're a literal ticking time bomb. The amount of energy you give off by just existing could level half of America with one snap of your fingers. Be careful, you oaf. I've gotta go, but remember what I've said, ya hear?" 

And then he hangs up. 

And Neil is left with a half burned cigarette, a dying cellphone, and ghosts as his only company. 


End file.
